


The Memory Riddle

by Thomas_H_Bombadil



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Death, Newt does magic science!, Obscurial, Obscurus, head canons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomas_H_Bombadil/pseuds/Thomas_H_Bombadil
Summary: After failing to save the Sudanese girl, Newt resolves to do better next time. This fic is an anthology of moments in Newt's life and travels, touching upon Newt/Leta, and eventually leading to Newt/Tina.





	1. The Obscurial

“Stay back, Dougal,” said Newt firmly, but the Demiguise hardly needed to be told. 

 

Dougal was usually quite calm around threats; such was the nature of a creature with the power of premonition. Newt had never seen Dougal so agitated and fearful before. The Demiguise paced back and forth, unsure of where to be, unsure of the threat that currently occupied Newt’s little shed. There was no precedent for this, Newt knew that. The angry black cloud hovering before him shouldn’t—no _couldn’t_ —exist. Could it? 

 

The Obscurus raged and crackled against the shield charm encasing it, threatening to breach it. Newt clenched his jaw and widened his eyes. With a twist of his wand, he strengthened the shield. What on earth was he supposed to do with this… this thing? Instinct stepped in for Newt’s indecision. 

 

“Shhh,” he said softly to the angry black cloud. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

 

The Obscurus contorted and pressed against the shield, straining and reaching for Newt. There was a long, low echo of a scream, as though someone very far away was crying down a dark hallway. It sounded like the girl, Newt realized. Just like her, in those final moments of pain, when he’d tried to reach out to her. He wondered if she was still in there, somewhere. But the girl was dead. He knew that. Her limp body left lying in a village many miles away. The villagers had circled around her, keeping their distance, whispering to each other. Some of the older women declared that the “great curse” was finally lifted from them all. Newt had slipped away from them all without a word. 

Newt didn’t know what the villagers would do to her body. He didn’t _want_ to know. He only knew there was nothing more _he_ could do for her… was there? 

 

“Right,” said Newt, glancing around his shed. “It is rather cramped in here, isn’t it? Can’t think that would bring about the best of memories, would it? Here. Let’s go someplace else.”

 

With his wand, he guided the Obscurus out of his shed. A concentric ring of alarm, and then dead quiet followed his winding path through the case as the beast inhabitants took notice of the Obscurus in their midst. Silent eyes followed Newt. He needed someplace quiet, someplace out of the way. He knew just the spot. 

 

Newt had been hoping to meet a Yeti one day. One week, long ago, the idea had taken hold of him so deeply that he delved into learning all the charms required to construct a suitable habitat for the mountain-dwelling creature. That had been years ago, and still, the winter snow-scape he’d created remained unoccupied. It would serve a purpose today. Newt guided the Obscurus inside the snowy enclosure. 

 

“I know it’s a tad different from what you’re used to,” said Newt in a kindly voice, gazing around at the gently falling snow, so different from the acacia-strewn desert the girl had called home. “But, perhaps, that’s precisely what’s called for. Sometimes, I’ve found, a change of scenery is all you need to take your mind off of… things.”

 

The Obscurus quieted in response to its cold, dark surroundings. Newt watched it carefully, keeping his stance quiet, relaxed, and unassuming. Newt realized, suddenly, that his eyes were quite wet. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the Obscurus, who took no notice. 

 

The girl could speak about five words in his language, and Newt in hers. Still, he’d gained her trust and managed to take her away from that awful prison. But on their way, the Obscurus had emerged. Newt had improvised; it had been reckless. The Obscurus could sense that Newt was trying to contain it… and it lashed out, consuming what was left of the girl. When the dust had settled, a shred of the Obscurus was trapped within the shield, and the girls’ body, depleted of magic and all life force, lay upon the ground. 

 

The terrible notion consumed Newt. He shouldn’t have tried to separate the Obscurus from its host. If he had waited, if he had just done something else to contain the Obscurus in that crucial moment… perhaps it wouldn’t have lashed out. Perhaps the girl would still be at the mercy of that terrible parasite, but she might have lived long enough for Newt to figure something else out. 

 

Newt quietly slipped away from the enclosure, immersed in a sickening mixture of guilt and grief.  The Obscurus would be safe there for now. 


	2. Swooping Evil

_**Some time much later...** _

  
Newt blinked, dazed, and stared around his shed, quite perplexed. He’d come down here to fetch something, hadn’t he? But what? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. Papers were strewn over his work bench, littered amongst a mortar and pestle, pocket watch, several beakers, and tins. 

 

He noticed something odd—a small note pinned to his shirt. Now that was strange, wasn’t it? How had that gotten there? 

 

Puzzled, Newt opened the note. His eyebrows raised in surprise at what was written. 

 

_Dear Newt,_

 

_Before I proceed into any of the details of your current circumstance, I must remind you in earnest not to worry—_

 

Newt nearly dropped the note—it was written in his own hand. He read on:

 

 _As you have likely surmised, you wrote this letter yourself not long ago. Yes, this is_ _most_ _definitely you. Hello!_

 

Newt believed it, but just in case, his eyes jumped to the bottom where he instantly recognized his own name scrawled in his unmistakable signature. 

 

_You may or may not recall the following, so I shall include it in detail. You are currently in the preliminary stages of an experiment to examine the Obliviative properties of Swooping Evil venom. Moments ago, you administered to yourself .01 mL of Swooping Evil venom diluted in 1 L of water. If all went well, this should have had the effect of Obliviating your memories from the present moment back to an uncertain time in the past._

 

_This is our preliminary trial, so I am uncertain of how much you will remember, and at which point of time your memories may be affected. The intention of this trial was to determine how far back in time your memories have been Obliviated by this particular dose._

 

_As you will hopefully recall, you have been checking the time at half-hour intervals for the past three days. Kindly enter the last time you remember viewing on your pocket watch in the first line of the table on your workbench._

 

That last part stumped Newt. He remembered the Swooping Evil well—such an intriguing, agile creature!—and he certainly could remember planning an experiment with the Obliviative venom. He’d really gone through with it, hadn’t he? The letter to himself was a rather good touch, Newt thought. That could have been quite disorienting otherwise. 

 

But he could remember nothing about checking any clocks over the past few days, even though it _seemed_ like the sort of thing he would do in a controlled experiment. 

 

He approached his work bench. Sure enough, there was a neat table drawn up on a wide piece of parchment, with a row titled “Trial 1” and space to write the last time he remembered—if he _could_ remember. 

 

Three days (or more!) of memories gone, just from that little drop, eh? Newt was impressed. He only hoped he remembered properly which country he was in. That could be catastrophic if he’d lost months of memories—it was lucky he took thorough notes, at least. He ran a hand through his hair, and hastily made a note in the table. 

 

_Quantity Obliviated more than three days of memory. Trial 2, increase dilution._

 

Satisfied for now, Newt shrugged on his coat emerged from his suitcase to find out what day and hemisphere it was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Newt lets details slide. He really ought to have written the date on that letter. But he didn't because he is a goof.


	3. Theseus

**_Some time long ago…_ **

 

Newt was out of his element, but he still had to smile at the festive scene before him. 

 

A Scamander cousin, Lenore, was getting married, and both Theseus and Newt’s presence was requested by a very fancy-looking owl bearing an equally fancy-looking invitation. Newt figured whoever this fellow Lenore was  marrying was rather wealthy. Theseus agreed, and pointed out the event would be well worth their time because of it.  Newt knew that though Lenore had invited them both, she really meant for _Theseus_ to be there. Theseus, the respected Auror. The War Hero. He was a worthwhile guest to have. Newt knew that he was merely a polite afterthought. 

 

“Lenore had quite a few friends back in the day,” Newt had said casually as the brothers fixed their ties and prepared to depart. “I’m certain many of them will be there. She was in my year at Hogwarts, remember?”

 

“Are you suggesting there may be _girls_ at this wedding?” asked Theseus mockingly. 

 

“Just being attentive to your interests,” said Newt, clapping his brother on the shoulder before heading out the door to Apparate. 

 

Newt hadn’t been wrong. Several young women, dolled up extravagantly for the occasion, flocked around his brother. Broad shouldered and square-jawed, he was so unlike Newt. He seemed to enjoy the attention, and talked easily with them. The women laughed in unison at what must have been a very clever joke. 

 

The band started playing, and a lively, brassy tune filled the hall. Couples paired up and took to the dance floor. Lenore, radiant in a shimmering white gown, swept across the hall in the arms of her new husband. The dancers parted, just long enough for Newt to spot a solitary, slim frame on the other side of the hall.

 

She was dressed in lilac. Black curls framed her face. Leta. They locked eyes for a long moment. Then, the dancers filled the space, and Leta was gone. Newt’s heart was pounding. What was Leta doing here? He hadn’t expected this… He glanced around desperately for Theseus, but his brother was busy being plied to the dance floor by a very pretty girl in pink. And then Leta was at his side. 

 

“I thought that was you, Newt,” she said. 

 

“Leta,” said Newt, eyes firmly fixed on her shoulder. 

 

A small smile twitched onto her face. 

 

“It’s been a while. Too long. You’ve been keeping well, I hope?”

 

“I’ve been keeping busy,” said Newt stiffly. 

 

Leta smiled, but her eyes looked very sad.

 

“Busy and well were always the same thing for you.” 

 

“What are you doing here?” Newt blurted out. 

 

“Lenore invited me,” answered Leta. 

 

“Hm. Did she?” said Newt, his voice still stiff. “I don’t recall you two being particularly friendly.”

 

Leta shrugged. 

 

“People change,” she said simply. 

 

Newt looked at her curiously. She smiled at him, but she looked… sad. 

 

“Look,” she started, her voice uncertain. “Would you… would you dance with me? I’m here all by myself…”

 

Newt was rather taken aback by this, and his eyes grasped around the room.

 

“Leta… I—“ Newt shut his mouth. Finally, his eyes landed on hers. Those familiar dark eyes which for years he could share secrets and jokes from across the room. She looked different than he remembered her. Softer. Sadder. Not a trace of the terrifying anger he remembered from their last encounter. “All right.” 

 

Leta beamed at him. 

 

Just then, however, a pair of overly-bombastic dancers crashed into the table stacked with a pyramid of champagne glasses. The collision was thunderous, and a few people screamed. After the initial shock, the hall filled with laughter at the comic sight of the couple disentangling themselves from the mess on the floor. Newt and Leta both looked on. 

 

Then Newt noticed Theseus. His brother was not laughing. In fact, he had frozen, and his face had gone pale. His hands fell away from the pretty girl in pink, who was looking rather miffed and trying to regain his attention. Theseus’s hands flew to the side of his head. His eyes were wide and unblinking. Theseus pushed the girl aside, forced his way through the crowd and exited the hall. Newt blinked. He’d never seen Theseus act like that before.

 

“I’m sorry, Leta, I have to go.”

 

“Newt—“ started Leta, but Newt had already left her side. He hurried out the hall after his brother. 

 

He found Theseus sitting on the side of a little knoll in the garden outside, knees drawn up to his chest, staring unseeing at the sprawling lawn of the estate. His hands were trembling. Newt stopped a few feet behind him. 

 

“Theseus,” he said slowly. “Are you.. are you alright?”

 

Theseus jerked around to look at his little brother. 

 

“Oh, Newt,” said Theseus in a distant voice. “Quite a show they put on, eh? Enjoying yourself?”

 

Newt didn’t want to talk about the wedding. He wanted to understand why his brother had gone pale as a ghost and run out of the hall as if chased by an army of Dementors. Silently, he took a seat on the knoll next to Theseus. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so instead, he rested a hand on Theseus’s shoulder. Newt took it as a good sign that Theseus didn’t brush it away. He didn’t know how long they sat like that, but eventually Theseus’s shaking subsided and his shoulders unclenched. 

 

“Has… has that been happening a lot?” ventured Newt after a while. 

 

Theseus stared at his feet and sighed.

 

“Now and again. Just since I got back.”

 

“That was almost a year ago.”

 

Theseus shrugged. 

 

“Sometimes it feels like a lot less time.”

 

Newt felt a lump forming in his throat. Theseus had kept this hidden from him for quite a while, kept it hidden from probably everyone. 

 

The muggles had a word for it, Newt knew. “Shell shocked” they had called the waves of men who’d returned home with visions of war stuck in their head. 

 

“It’s… it’s… sometimes it’s like I’m back there, you know? Like no time has passed at all.”

 

Newt didn’t know. But he could understand. He had his own dark memories that sometimes came back to haunt him in his lonelier moments.

 

“It’s just memories, Theseus. Surely you could, well… I mean, have you considered having them Obliviated?”

 

Theseus snorted. 

 

“You think they haven’t tried that on a few boys who came back from the war? They gave it a go. Doesn’t work.”

 

“It doesn’t? Why not?”

 

“Obliviation charms aren’t powerful enough. They can mask a memory well enough… But some things… just have a way of surfacing.”

 

Newt pondered this for a long time. 

 

“Look, Theseus, I say we’ve made an adequate appearance here. What do you say we go home, hm?”

 

Theseus hesitated.

 

“You sure you want to go? I thought I saw you talking to Leta Lestrange.”

 

Newt’s jaw clenched. 

 

“Forget Leta,” Newt said firmly. “Let’s go.”


	4. Leta

The floor of Newt’s shed was covered in books, some written by wizards, but many by muggles. He’d often found, when researching something new, he needed a share of knowledge from both the magical and non-magical worlds. 

 

In fact, Newt had some rather sharp words to say about wizards who, on principal, or out of laziness, would avoid muggle libraries. He’d have gotten nowhere in the world of magical taxonomy without heeding what the muggle researchers had to say. 

 

It had taken him weeks to calibrate the dosage of Swooping Evil venom—not to mention the best equipment he owned and charm work he could muster to dilute it thinly enough—for he found that even absurdly low concentrations had a profound effect. 

 

He had to work sparingly as he was testing the venom on himself, and, well, he _was_ a rather busy wizard, and potentially losing field observations for his book to an Obliviative venom was a bad idea. (He was sure his publisher would agree.)

 

And so, he had worked in the quieter times, those long days aboard ships, crossing continents. Finally, he had charted it down fairly exact. Newt could predict, with very good certainty, the dilution to erase a minute, an hour, and a day worth of memories. 

 

It was a tricky thing, though, measuring memories in units of time. After all, memories were not always so linear or neatly packaged. Newt had days in his life he could remember every second of, and long swaths of time from which he could remember nearly nothing, Obliviation or not. Still, the venom had been straightforward enough to calibrate for short-term memories—those from within a day.  

 

Newt was eager, and somewhat nervous, for the next trial. With tremendous focus, Newt used an eye dropper to add a small drop of the Swooping Evil dilution into a cup of tea. He took a seat and made a few notes. 

 

He didn’t down the tea right away. 

 

First, he dimmed the lights and sat back, closing his eyes and breathing steadily. 

 

He forgot the shed, forgot the creatures surrounding him. He traveled back through darkness to a very specific memory from long ago….

 

_Leta had appeared at breakfast that morning, utterly stricken, eyes dashing back and forth as she read the letter before her. Newt had spied her from across the hall, himself seated at the Hufflepuff table._

 

_Newt saw her fold up her letter with a sour look on her face. She caught his eye. Newt raised his eyebrows in question. Leta crossed the hall to him._

 

_“Can you walk with me?” she said. It was a demand, not a question._

 

_Newt, who had only just started to bite into his breakfast, put down his toast. Leta looked troubled. More troubled than usual._

 

_“Yes. Yes of course, Leta.”_

 

_The pair wandered out onto the school grounds, deserted on the crisp morning. They arrived at their favorite sitting spot on the edge of the lake._

 

_“My father wrote me this morning,” Leta began. “Says I’m… He says I’m coming of age soon, and that he needs to start considering my future.”_

 

_Newt looked at his friend seriously. She looked both angry and scared, her stormy eyes glaring at the lake, her knees drawn up to her chest._

 

_“Your future?” Newt inquired. “What did he mean by that?”_

 

_“He means,” said Leta, the anger rising in her voice, “I need to find myself a good man from a respectable family once I leave school… and if I don’t, he’ll likely find someone just as good for me. Well, just as bad, I think. Knowing him.”_

 

_Newt’s eyes went wide. He knew that Leta’s father had a rather narrow definition of “respectable”, though if he was being completely honest and base, that wasn’t the part of Leta’s revelation that bothered him the most…_

 

_“Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Newt firmly._

 

_“Why not?” said Leta morosely._

 

_“Because I know you, Leta. I’ve known you for a long time. I can’t recall you doing anything you didn’t want to. And you obviously don’t want to listen to your father.”_

 

_Leta turned to him, her eyes shining with a few tears. Newt looked into them, lost in those dark pools. Desperate to comfort her, he reached out and grasped her hand, squeezing it._

 

 _Electricity seemed to fill the space between them, and suddenly, Leta was leaning forward. Her lips, soft, landed in his own. Newt hardly knew what was happening, but he was kissing her back, and one hand went to her hair, and another to the small of her back._  
  
  
_It was awkward at first. There was some fumbling, but soon, they flowed together passionately, each desperately drinking the other in._

 

_Finally, they broke apart. Leta peered up at him, a little shyly. Newt looked at her anew. His heart was pounding, and something powerful stirred within him. Everything had changed between them with that kiss. Or perhaps, everything had really been this way between them all along._

 

_“You wanted to do that?” asked Newt, stunned._

 

_Leta laughed and rested her head on his shoulder._

 

_“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, Newt.”_

 

Back in the shed, Newt froze, the Swooping Evil dilution a mere inch from his lips. He opened his eyes. He set the tea down, and sighed. 

 

It wasn’t a bad memory. Not really. Not at all in fact. But still, it brought him pain for everything that had followed. He’d long suspected his life would be a whole lot freer without the good memories of Leta Lestrange.

 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

 

So he settled for a more expendable memory—the time Theseus had broken his first broomstick when they’d been children. Unimportant, but he could remember it well. He crossed out a few lines of notes and added more words. Closing his eyes once more, he summoned that memory, drank the tea, and waited.


	5. Tina

Tina knocked on the suitcase. There was no answer. She hesitated for a moment, then went inside. 

 

Newt was down there, buttoning up his shirt. He looked up, startled, as Tina climbed down the ladder. 

 

“So sorry,” Newt said. “I didn’t hear you.”

 

“I… I hope I’m not intruding,” said Tina, trying not to blush as Newt finished his last button. “Just, thought I should to check on you, is all.”

 

Newt blinked in confusion.

 

“Me? Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” said Newt, flashing a forced smile at her. 

 

“You were in a duel,” said Tina flatly. 

 

Newt shrugged. 

 

“I’ve spent quite a lot of time in the field, and not all beasts are, ah, happy to see me,” he explained. “I’ve gotten rather good at healing charms and potions, see. Scrapes. Bruises. Broken bones, that sort of thing.”

 

Newt stared at his feet for a moment. He looked up suddenly at Tina and asked, “Are _you_ alright?”

 

“Yeah,” said Tina, who hadn’t been hit by any curse. “I’m fine. And Queenie, too. But she’s a lot more upset than she’s letting on. I can always tell.”

 

Then her face fell and tears pricked at her eyes. The weight of the previous evening hit her suddenly, and all at once. Credence… the Obscurus… Grindelwald… and her once-fellow Aurors firing curses into the dark cloud. Credence, who had begun to regain his human form, cried out in agony… and then was gone. 

 

And, of course, the revelation that the real Percival Graves had been lost from their midst and was likely dead. A few Aurors would be interrogating Grindelwald now, with the hopes that Graves, or what was left of him, could be recovered. 

 

Newt seemed to register her distress. 

 

“Tina…” Newt started, but seemed stumped about what else to say. 

 

“He wouldn’t have lived long either way, would he?” said Tina, her eyes desperately grasping at Newt. “Credence?”

 

Newt didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened and he looked as though he were trying to collect his thoughts. 

 

“Well,” he began slowly. “Obscurials are not known to survive very long, but, Credence… I’ve never seen or heard of anything like him before. That was an unusually powerful Obscurus. Credence may well have been the oldest surviving Obscurial in written memory. Perhaps ever. It’s entirely unprecedented.”

 

Tina wasn’t quite sure how to phrase her next question. 

 

“When we were on the rooftop,” she began. “You said something. You said ‘they’re not killing him’ and then you Apparated after him. At the time, I thought it was idiotic, but you… you had a plan, didn’t you?”

 

Newt’s eyes looked rather damp. He blinked very quickly and went about tidying up his work bench. 

 

“Well, you did come after me, didn’t you?”

 

Tina took his point. 

 

“I knew that boy,” she said as an answer. “None of it was his fault. He didn’t deserve what the Aurors did to him.”

 

Newt looked up at her. There was a dark shadow behind his eyes that Tina had never seen before.

 

“I did have a plan,” admitted Newt. “Well, just an idea, really. I’m not sure if it would have worked.”

 

“You could have helped him?” pressed Tina. 

 

“I could have tried,” said Newt. 

 

“How? Everyone knows there’s no cure for an Obscurus. It would have killed him in the end.”

 

"There used to not be a cure for Dragon Pox, either,” Newt pointed out. Then, he seemed to shrink into himself, realizing he may have said something too personal; Tina and Queenie’s parents had died of Dragon Pox. 

 

Tina didn’t mind, though. She raised an eyebrow at Newt, urging him to continue. 

 

“The Swooping Evil venom,” he explained. “I’ve been studying it for a while. It’s good for more than Obliviating entire cities, you know. I originally thought it would be best used for Obliviating bad memories, see.”

 

“What about the Obliviate charm?” Tina pointed out. 

 

“Ah, yes. Useful spell, but it has its limits,” said Newt. 

 

Tina glanced around the interior of Newt’s shed, and her eyes fell on something she hadn’t noticed there during her last visit: a small picture frame with the moving picture of a young woman. She was very pretty. Stunning, even, with high cheekbones and delicate features. The girl’s confident, seductive eyes followed Newt as he worked around his shed. 

 

It suddenly hit Tina--She had never once, in the past two days, considered that Newt might _actually_ have a woman in his life. 

 

Newt seemed like a bumbling fool when she first met him. And so _odd_. Impossible to be romantically favorable to, well, _anyone_.

 

But even more recently, ever since he had saved her from the Death Potion, when she began to notice how handsome he really was, how bright the green in his eyes was… It had never _once_ occurred to her. 

 

Tina wondered who the girl was; she couldn’t help herself. She could be married to Newt, for all she knew. A knot formed in her stomach, and she felt like a fool.

 

Newt didn’t seem to notice any of Tina’s ruminating. She quickly averted her eyes from the picture of the pretty girl. 

 

“Listen,” said Newt, “Would you… would you mind walking with me? I need to tend to the creatures…”

 

“Of course,” said Tina. 

 

The inside of the case astounded her still, and for a few wonderful moments, she was outside of her head and her sorrow as she followed Newt to the Graphorns and past the Fwooper nest. 

 

“See, the Obliviate charm is useful enough for masking details and confounding,” Newt explained as they walked among the creatures. “Works well enough for making muggles forget when they’ve seen magic. But it only masks memories. It doesn’t fully remove them.”

 

“There’s a difference?” asked Tina. 

 

“Yes,” said Newt, though he didn’t expound, for he was now very busy caring for the baby Occamies. 

 

“Now,” Newt continued after a few minutes as they walked deeper into the case, “the Swooping Evil venom is much more physiologically amenable than the Obliviate charm. It’s extremely potent. It removes memories more thoroughly than a charm could.” 

 

“Alright,” said Tina, still not understanding. “Well, that Swooping Evil stuff definitely saved the day up there. But I still don’t see…”

 

Newt looked thoughtful for a moment.

 

“It could be said that we’re made up of our memories, couldn’t it?” he said. “So, if you woke up tomorrow, all your memories gone, you wouldn’t really be you, now would you?”

 

“I guess not,” said Tina, though she couldn’t think of anything more ghastly than to wake up without knowing who she was. 

 

They paused at the opening of a large canvas flap. Tina peered through the opening and saw beyond into a dark, snowy landscape. Newt really did have a flair for charms, she reflected, watching a single snowflake trail down to the ground. 

 

“See, I’ve long suspected you could change the very nature of an Obscurial by altering or removing a few very specific memories. It would have to be very targeted, but it could be done.”

 

Tina looked at him, gobsmacked. 

 

“You mean… you could make them forget whatever awful thing had been done to them to make them suppress their magic? And that would cure them of the Obscurus?”

 

“In theory, anyway,” said Newt. “I’d been meaning to try it, ever since Sudan.”

 

 _On Credence_ , were the unspoken words. 

 

Newt gazed into the snowy enclosure. He looked as though he were about to cry.

 

“You don’t suppose there’s any chance MACUSA would return that Obscurus, do you?” he asked.

 

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Tina, remembering the owl. “We’ve been asked to give a statement at a MACUSA hearing tomorrow. Both of us. Madame Picquery herself will be heading the committee. I’d say she owes you one. Can’t see her saying no if you ask nicely. And it’s not like MACUSA has a use for it.”

 

“With any luck,” said Newt. “It’d be a shame to lose it."

 

They walked together, slowly, back to the shed. Something occurred to Tina. 

 

“How did you figure all that stuff out about the Swooping Evil, anyway?”

 

“Ah, well, a few experiments here and there.”

 

“On yourself?” pressed Tina. 

 

“Who else?” said Newt. "First time I tested it out, I lost two weeks. Had no idea where I was when I came to." 

 

Tina had to chuckle. 

 

“You’re a genius, you know that?” The compliment flew out of her mouth, unchecked. “You’re absolutely crazy. But you’re a genius.”

 

“Thank you, Tina,” said Newt, stiffly. Tina noticed a distinctive blush in his ears. “And I hope they’ll restore you to the Aurors, after all you’ve done. You deserve it.”

 

Tina felt tears once more prick her eyes. 

 

“You really think so?”

 

“Most definitely. You were right about those Second Salemers all along, and they’d be daft not to recognize that. If they’d listened to you sooner, last night may never have happened.” 

 

Now, Tina felt herself blushing. She didn’t know what to say. 

 

“Listen, Newt… um. Would you like some cocoa?”

 

“Yes,” said Newt. “Thank you."

 

  
He caught her eye and smiled awkwardly.  


 

"I think I’ll even stick around and drink it this time.”

 

* * *

 

  
"Don't let it eat you up," said Queenie the next morning over coffee.

 

“What?” said Tina. 

 

“You saw that picture he has of Leta Lestrange. It’s all you’ve been thinking about since you got up this morning.”

 

“Leta Lestrange?” said Tina. _So that was her name._ Lestrange. Not Scamander. Still… She was a girl important enough for Newt to keep a picture of her. 

 

“So he keeps a picture of his best girl around. So what?” said Tina, feigning indifference, however futile.

 

Queenie gave her a look. 

 

“You were never good at admitting when you liked someone.”

 

“I don’t—“ started Tina. 

 

“Yes you do.”

 

Tina sighed. It was useless, trying to hide any of this from Queenie. 

 

“It’s all right,” Queenie reassured her. “I ain’t gonna tell ‘im. But I think you should.”

 

“Why would I do that? He has _Leta_ …”

 

Queenie shrugged innocently. 

 

“Actually, I ain’t so sure about that.”

 

Tine folded her arms and regarded her little sister. 

 

“You’ve been nosing around his head. You gotta stop doing that, Queenie. It’s _rude_.”

 

“I know, I know,” said Queenie, looking sheepish. “I couldn’t help it.”

 

Tina, torn between scolding Queenie and wanting to know more, gave up and leaned forward. 

 

“So, they’re not… she’s not his…?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Queenie. 

 

“What do you mean?” asked Tina. 

 

“I mean I don’t know! Some people are harder to read. All I know is whoever Leta is, he got real hurt 'cause of her.”

 

Tina had a lot to ponder. She stared at her hands. Newt would be setting sail for England in a few days time, and she’d likely never see him again. 

 

“If it was me, I’d ask him about Leta Lestrange,” said Queenie seriously. “ _Before_ he leaves.”

 

“It’s none of my business. I don’t want to pry,” said Tina. 

 

“I know. That’s why you’ve got me to push you ask him anyway. Besides,” said Queenie, her eyes flashing. “I think he likes you, too.” 

 

The corner of Tina’s mouth twitched. 

 

“You _think_ or you _know_?”

 

Queenie smiled mischievously in answer. She picked up her coffee mug and swept out of the room.

 

“That’s for you to find out, Teenie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINITE INCANTATUM!
> 
> That's the end. That's all folks. Thanks for making it so far!


End file.
